


Devil You (Don't) Know

by ThirtySixSaveFiles



Series: City of Blood [4]
Category: Borderlands, Tales from the Borderlands - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Memory Alteration, Possession, really only rated mature for one line
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-19 20:32:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,006
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8223923
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThirtySixSaveFiles/pseuds/ThirtySixSaveFiles
Summary: Rhys is Vaughn's best friend - always has been. But how long has Rhys always been Vaughn's friend - that's a question it never occurred to Jack to ask.Until now.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This thing grew a plot on me. I apologize for the brevity - hopefully the next part will make up for it.

The first inkling Jack has that something might not be quite right with Rhys is when Jack asks about his childhood. It’s an idle question, posed in the afterglow of a lazy night in, after Jack had made Rhys come twice around Jack’s dick, muffling his screams in Jack’s sheets.

“I’ve always lived here.” Rhys yawns and rolls into Jack’s side, tugging Jack’s arm around himself. Jack’s hand comes up to stroke Rhys’ back automatically, and Rhys makes a small contented noise. “Grew up in the North End, on the 800 block of Edgewater Street.” Rhys laughs faintly to himself. “I haven’t thought about that place in ages.”

Jack’s hand stills for a second.

“Edgewater? I know the neighborhood. Don’t suppose you remember the building?” Jack’s striving for casual and Rhys doesn’t react, so Jack supposes he passes.

“Uh. Windsor? Yeah.” Rhys is fading fast, eyes shut and breath evening out. A few more moments and he’s dead asleep, as if he hasn’t just claimed to have grown up in a building that had burned down before he was born.

For the first time it occurs to Jack to wonder just who exactly he has brought into his bed.

* * *

Jack calls Vaughn into his office the next day.

He’s nervous; the way he adjusts and then re-adjusts his glasses every minute or so gives that away. He doesn’t give anything else away, though, even after Jack gestures him to a chair and then stares in silence. It takes longer than Jack thought it would, but Vaughn breaks first.

“You, uh, you wanted to see me, sir? I thought we were square, I thought we -”

“We are.” Jack lets him sit little longer, until Vaughn starts fidgeting again. “Tell me about Rhys,” he says, drawing his fingers in idle patterns on the scarred surface of his desk.

This is clearly not what Vaughn expects to hear. “About Rhys?” He blinks, and shoots a nervous glance at Jack’s fingers. “Couldn’t you just, you know, ask him?”

“I’m asking you. Where did he grow up?”

“I don’t know? North End, I think he told me?”

“Does he have any family?”

“No, they’re all gone. He’s an only child.” Vaughn frowns. “What does this -”

“I’m asking the questions.” Jack leans back in his chair and relaxes into the flow of the city around him. It’s warm and welcoming, an embrace that’s never more than a thought away. He knows what his eyes look like when he does this, and the effect is certainly not lost on Vaughn; Vaughn stares at him, frozen, and then tears his gaze away, looking fixedly at Jack’s fingers as if not making direct eye contact will save him.

It won’t, not if Jack doesn’t like what he hears.

“How long have you two been friends?” Jack asks softly, the barest echo following his voice, and Vaughn swallows.

“I - I - I don’t know, since we were kids, we went to school together.”

“Where?” There are faint sparks following Jack’s fingers now as he drags them over the desk and Vaughn can’t look away.

“I, uh - Three Sisters, that’s where I -” Vaughn stops and frowns, and Jack stills. Three Sisters is all the way across the city from the building Rhys couldn’t have grown up in, and it’s clear that Vaughn is putting the dots together himself.

“Who is he, Vaughn?” The question is gentle but his smile isn’t, and Vaughn’s face pales.

"Rhys is my best friend! He always has been," Vaughn says in a panic, but now that Jack's listening it has the tone of something learned, not something _known_.

“Has he.” Jack leans forward. “What do you really _know_ about him? Think back - how _long_ has he _always_ been your friend?”

Vaughn gulps, but he doesn’t have an answer.

* * *

Now that he knows to look for it, Jack wonders that he didn’t see it before.

They’re walking to lunch, and instead of taking the lead as he usually does, Jack falls a half-step behind. Rhys had claimed that he had never been to this particular neighborhood before, but when Jack lets him take the lead Rhys leads them unerringly to the restaurant, turning corners confidently without apparent thought, talking animatedly the whole time.

Jack catches a glint of Rhys’ right arm in the late afternoon sun and wonders. Rhys had told him how the arm had rendered the sigil in the mayor’s car inert; the arm is clearly a conduit for the city’s power, but Jack wonders uneasily what else might come through.

Jack hasn’t felt uneasy in a long time. He doesn’t like it, and he likes that he’s feeling it about _Rhys_ even less.

But by dinner Jack almost has himself convinced that he’d read too much into the whole thing; memories are faulty, after all, and even best friends don’t know everything about one another. Maybe Rhys had looked up directions to the restaurant before they left. Jack feels the city nudging at him and relaxes into it, letting it fill his veins and comfort him.

Then Jack looks up and catches Rhys watching him with something _else_ moving behind his eyes. Rhys blinks, and smiles, and it’s gone.

“Jack?” Jack’s listening for it, but Rhys’ tone is utterly devoid of any guile. “Is something wrong?”

Jack has no idea how to answer that.


	2. Chapter 2

Jack should tread carefully.

He doesn’t know what’s moving behind Rhys’ eyes; he doesn’t know how long it’s been there, if Rhys has been hiding this from him or it’s hiding itself from Rhys. Jack had accepted Rhys so unconditionally into his life and his bed - he had been a gift, an unlooked-for reward that Jack was happy to claim. The city had brought Rhys to him, and Rhys had seemed happy to be brought, settling in at Jack’s side as if he was meant to be there. Jack hadn’t thought to look any further.

Now, though, with the blood of the city running through his veins and something _other_ moving through Rhys’, Jack wonders if that was a mistake.

Jack should tread carefully. But Jack didn’t get to where he is today by being cautious.

Jack pushes back from the table, chair skidding backwards as he stands. Rhys looks up in surprise, slowly putting down knife and fork as Jack stalks around the table.

“Jack? What are you -” Rhys’ words cut off with a choked sound as Jack seizes him around the throat, chair tipping over as Jack drags him up and out of it. Rhys’ hands fly up to clutch desperately at Jack’s as he drags Rhys backward, and the rest of the air leaves Rhys’ lungs in a rush as his back hits the wall. Jack tears Rhys’ right wrist away from Jack’s forearm; predictably, as soon as Jack’s fingers touch Rhys’ altered skin the kid’s mouth falls open on a gasp he has no air for, and when Jack pins his wrist to the wall and _squeezes_ Rhys’ eyelids flutter and the resistance goes out of his body all at once.

“I’m fond of you, Rhysie, so I’m gonna give you a chance to do this the easy way.”  Jack loosens his grip on Rhys’ throat slightly and Rhys sucks in a lungful of air, coughing, left hand still wrapped around Jack’s wrist but not pulling, not anymore. “What did I bring into my house when I brought you home?”

The confusion on Rhys’ face looks real. “I don’t - do you mean this?” Rhys shrugs his right shoulder the best he can and inhales sharply when that pulls against Jack’s grip. “I told you, I don’t know what it does, I don’t -”

“Not what I’m talking about, babe.” Jack squeezes down on Rhys’ right wrist again, hard enough to grind bone were it still there, and Rhys’ eyes roll back as his head hits the wall, a strangled noise tearing out of his throat and knees buckling until Jack’s hands are the only thing holding him up. Jack eases up, letting Rhys draw in a sobbing breath and get his feet back under him.

Jack rubs his thumb gently up and down the side of Rhys’ neck, eyeing the beginnings of a bruise. “One more time. What are you, Rhysie?” Jack can hear other voices start to overlay his own and he takes a moment to resettle himself; the city recedes a bit but remains attentive, eager to be called.

“I’m - Jack, I don’t, I don’t - I _don’t know what you’re talking about._ ” Rhys’ eyes are wide and edged with tears; from pleasure or pain or both, Jack doesn’t know. With the city flowing through him Jack can hear no falsehood in that panicked voice, but -

But as Rhys’ eyes move between Jack’s eyes and his hands, there’s a shadow that doesn’t move with them.

“Fine.” Jack bares his teeth. “The hard way. For the record, I’m sorry about this, kiddo,” and Jack is mildly surprised to find that he means it.

Rhys’ eyes go impossibly wider as Jack breathes in deliberately, opening himself up and letting the trickle of the city that is always flowing through him become a stream, a river, a flood. The city responds joyfully, as it always does, surging through his veins with a sound like singing. Jack allows himself half a second to just revel in it, the unbounded power that answers to him and him alone.

Rhys is still watching him, fear falling away into fascination, and Jack takes a moment to regret that this may well be the last time Jack sees that kind of light behind Rhys’ eyes.

But Jack can’t let whatever Rhys is - intruder or challenge or other unknown - go unanswered.

His vision tinged in green, Jack redirects that flow, and Rhys stiffens as the city gleefully leaps between them, running down Jack’s arm and up Rhys’. The arm is a conduit, Jack knows that much, or at least it can be used as one - and it works beautifully, Rhys’ body spasming under Jack’s hands as the raw unfiltered power of the city crashes through him.

Jack knows knows no better way to burn out whatever is inside of Rhys. He finds himself hoping that there will be something left of Rhys when he’s done.

Rhys’s eyes go entirely white, and the back of his head hits the wall again as his body pulls taut. Jack can still feel _something_ there, and he pushes harder, _reaching_ -

And then he feels something like a _snap_ deep in Rhys’ chest, and all of a sudden the city pulls back, leaving Rhys empty and Jack blinking away green.

Jack shifts his hand to feel for a pulse in Rhys’ throat. It’s weak, thready, and under Jack’s fingers it falters and stops.

Jack is unprepared for the weight of the regret in his stomach.

Rhys’ head lolls forward and Jack shifts his grip to Rhys’ shoulders. He’s lowering Rhys’ body to the floor with the vague idea of CPR when Rhys’ chest suddenly heaves and his right arm comes up to grip Jack’s shirt. Jack starts, but Rhys’s grip is solid. Rhys lifts his head, and his eyes are outlined in burning green. He smiles at Jack, kneeling frozen with Rhys in his arms, and in a voice not his own - a voice overlaid with the echoes of a thousand others - Rhys says,

“ _Hello, Jack_.”


	3. Chapter 3

“ _ Hello Jack,”  _ Rhys purrs, in a voice that both  _ is  _ and  _ isn’t  _ his own, that has echoes of wind and steel following after it.

Jack jerks back, and the look of surprise on Rhys’ face when he hits the floor would be comical were his eyes not still limned with green. Whatever is in there wears Rhys’ expressions well; the pout that creases his face looks so genuine it makes Jack’s chest hurt.

“What are you,” Jack says flatly, and Rhys - or the thing wearing Rhys’ body - frowns at him.

“You know me, Jack,” Rhys says, getting to his feet and stepping close. Jack wants to lean back but he forces himself to stand still as Rhys traces a hand down Jack’s jaw. “You know me down to your bones.” The hand on Jack’s face drifts down, and Rhys grabs Jack’s wrist and  _ squeezes _ at the same time that he presses his mouth to Jack’s.

There’s fire and sparks and  _ heat _ , and Jack hasn’t felt anything like this since he was getting his face split open and Jack realizes - 

He does know this being. He’s carried it with him every day of his life since he pledged everything that he was to it.

The city opens Rhys’ eyes and steps back, smiling and satisfied. “I knew you’d catch up,” it says, patting Jack’s cheek. “You’re smart, I like that about you.”

Jack stands very still, as if even breathing will tip some balance he can’t even see. The city has always manifested itself to him in dreams and urges and  _ feelings _ , and while he’s felt its embrace more times than he can count he didn’t know that it was capable of this kind of  _ possession _ , and for the first time in a long time Jack is afraid.

But not for himself.

“Where’s Rhys?” He asks, and the city laughs.

“I did well with him, don’t you think?” The city spreads Rhys’ arms and looks down at itself, and it seems to like what it sees.

Jack has a sinking feeling he knows what that means, but he has to ask anyway. “Did well?”

The city hums to itself, and rights Rhys’ toppled chair instead of answering immediately. It puts Rhys’ hands on Jack’s shoulders and Jack can feel the weight of skyscrapers behind it as he’s pushed down. The city settles Rhys’ body astride Jack’s lap, a warm familiar weight against Jack’s body, and settles Rhys’ arms around his shoulders, playing with the short hairs at the back of Jack’s neck. It’s almost unbearably intimate, and although Jack has lived with this power in his veins for years now, seeing it where Rhys’ eyes should be leaves him cold inside.

“I know you, Jack, and you have earned my love; so Rhys is my gift to you. I fashioned him out of dreams, and of want, and of longing, and set him free to find you. I knew he would, eventually - although I did have to help him along a little.” The city wrinkles Rhys’ nose “These  _ words _ are so  _ imprecise _ , how do you  _ say _ anything like this?”

Jack’s hands tighten where they’ve settled on Rhys’ hips, and he forces his fingers to relax. “We manage.”

The city tilts Rhys’ head at him, and Jack is reminded that his every emotion is laid bare before it. “You’re angry with me. Why? Is he unsatisfactory?”

“ _ No _ . No,” Jack repeats, softer, and lifts a hand to smooth it through Rhys’ hair. The city closes Rhys’ eyes and leans into it, lips curling up, and Jack wonders if it’s ever felt anything like physical touch before. He’s still reeling with the thought that Rhys was  _ made  _ for him, but he pushes it aside. “No, you did very well. Thank you.” The city preens, and Jack hopes it doesn’t take the next part wrong. “Now bring him back.”

The city blinks at him, but Jack stares back, unyielding. Rhys may have been  _ made _ instead of born, but he was a gift, the city said so; that means he’s Jack’s, Jack’s to defend and to keep, and Jack doesn’t let go of what is his.

Even to the entity that owns his soul.

The city stares at him through Rhys’ eyes, and Jack can feel it moving through him, mapping out pathways that must be as familiar as its streets are by now. Then it smiles, and leans down to rest Rhys’ forehead against Jack’s.

“I am not threatened by the love you bear for him. I know you, Jack. I know every beat of your heart and every breath in your lungs. As you love him, so you love me, and that I will never begrudge you.” The city brushes Rhys’ lips over Jack’s forehead, over the peak of the scar, and Jack closes his eyes against the burning sensation. “There is no call of yours I will not answer, provided you do the same for me; and I know that you will. Won’t you, Jack?”

Jack opens his eyes, because there is only one answer to that, there has only  _ ever _ been one answer to that, and he can feel it singing in his blood as surely as the city can. “Yes,” he breathes, and he means it, with all that he is.

The city smiles down at him. “Good. Remember that.” There’s a noise like a great rushing wind, and Jack feels his hair blow back as the fire in Rhys’ eyes glows blindingly bright and and then extinguishes all at once. Jack can feel the city ebbing, and he can see the exact moment that Rhys swims back up behind his own eyes, wide and panicked.

“Jack -” Rhys is shaking all over, and his left hand flies up to cover his mouth. He convulses, and for a second Jack thinks Rhys is going to throw up. He looks like he’s going to shake out of his skin, so Jack gathers him up in his arms, encouraging him closer. Rhys tenses for a moment, resistant, but then he collapses into Jack’s chest.

“I didn’t - it can’t - it’s not true, it can’t be, it  _ can’t _ .” Rhys’ voice is tight and fast, and he sounds like he’s close to tears. “Jack, it’s not -  _ I’m _ not -”

“Shhhh,” Jack shifts Rhys closer as Rhys starts to shake his head and tears start to dampen Jack’s shirt. “Shhhh, it’s alright. It’s going to be alright.” He rubs a hand up and down Rhys’ spine, and hopes that Rhys is hearing him, that Rhys can hear the apology he can’t bring himself to voice.

It’s going to be all right. Jack will find a way to set things right.

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me at [ThirtySixSaveFiles](http://thirtysixsavefiles.tumblr.com) on Tumblr!


End file.
